


Start Praying

by snasational



Series: Raffle Prizes [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Sanses | Nightmare's Gang (Undertale), Choking, Dusttale Sans (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Ignored Safeword, M/M, Many Bad Things Happen To Cross, Nightmare Sans - Freeform, Torn Genitalia, Torture, Whipping, Xtale Sans - Freeform, bad sans poly - Freeform, killer sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snasational/pseuds/snasational
Summary: The Bad Sans poly has a good time. Cross does not.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Raffle Prizes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081718
Comments: 15
Kudos: 108





	Start Praying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Askellie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askellie/gifts).



> I'm sorry this is like....terrible. BUT i've never ever written something like this before, so even if it's bad I hope you forgive me! 
> 
> PLEASE READ THE TAGS! I didn't write it too graphic, I think, but if you get triggered easily please consider maybe not reading this. 
> 
> I hope you like it Askellie!! And even if you hate it I still lowkey had fun writing it lol

Cross glares at the two skeletons in front of him, contempt written clear as day on his face. Nightmare strokes his conjured thigh appeasingly. He’d feel a whole lot better about the movement if it weren’t for the fact that he’s sitting atop the bastard’s lap, his wrists strapped to a spreader bar behind his back. Killer and Dust snicker maliciously at him.

“What the fuck is so funny?” He hisses. It doesn’t stop the humiliated flush from coloring his cheekbones. 

“Oh, nothing.” Dust waves his hand nonchalantly. “Just enjoying the view, that’s all.”

And what a nice view it must be, Cross thinks bitterly. Sitting on Nightmare’s throne gives the whole room an eyeful of his cunt. The bar makes his legs spread at an uncomfortable angle and because of the way his hands are attached to it the damned thing makes his spine arch painfully. Nothing about this is fun like they promised it would be. 

“Go fuck yourself.” Cross snarls at him. Killer clicks his tongue at him in a chiding manner. When he steps closer, Cross flinches. This isn’t what he agreed to, he has no idea what these people are planning to do with him. It’s a scary thought. He almost wishes Chara was still in his head, so that he can just shut down and talk to him while this happens. It’s too late to back out now. 

“That’s the plan, isn’t it?” The skeleton says, amused. Behind him, Nightmare chuckles. 

“Relax, Cross.” The monarch murmurs in his ear-canal. Cross struggles for a moment before going limp. Damn him and that incredibly smooth voice of his. Oily hands continue to knead comfortingly into his legs, easing the tension out of him. Dust and Killer remain silent while Nightmare works his magic and Cross thanks god for that. 

Perhaps he’s overreacting. They did give him a safe word, after all. And they aren’t acting any different than usual. He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath.

“Are you guys just going to stand there and fucking watch?” He snaps, the tension finally getting to him. 

Dust laughs, but nonetheless the two finally crowd up against him. Nightmare doesn’t stop his soft petting, but he scolds his underlings gently. “One at a time. Dust, you said you had an idea earlier?” 

Dust nods, a malicious smirk on his face. “Yeah. I did. Scooch, Killer. You’re going to  _ love  _ this.”

Killer huffs but he moves to where he’s standing beside the throne, watching intently at Dust’s next moves. Dust does not disappoint. He shimmies out of his shorts and steps in between Cross’ legs. Nothing about this seems out of the ordinary, so Cross is relaxed when the head of his dick touches his folds. 

He pushes in. Cross sighs. Okay, yeah, he can do this. He doesn’t like the spreader, but if that’s the worse these guys have to offer then he’s going to be just fine. He thrusts softly, drawing a moan out of the both of them. 

“How are you always so tight?” Dust grunts. His hands come up and loop around Cross’ floating ribs, right above where his ecto body is formed. Nothing about this is unusual, Dust has probably grabbed onto them about a dozen times before. The touch is welcomed. Cross loves soft touches to his bare bones. 

“Okay,” Dust speaks up again. “Watch this.”

Cross opens his eyes at the tone of his voice, but it’s too late. That grip on his ribs turns punishing and Dust  _ pulls.  _

“What the fuck are you doing?” Cross cries out. “Let go, fucking!  _ Berry! Berry!  _ Let go of my ribs!” He struggles against the spreader violently. But nobody seems to be listening to him, despite the usage of the safe word that  _ they  _ chose for him. 

He pulls and pulls until a sickening crack fills the throne room. Cross screams, pain shooting throughout his entire rib cage. It hurts so bad that it’s blinding. Blood spurts from the cracks, coating Dust’s fingers and dripping down Cross’ body. 

“Oh.” Killer purrs. “ _ Nice.”  _

“I agree. The sight of his blood is so pretty, isn’t it?” Nightmare cooes. His hands slide through the bloody mess and he inspects it with a pleased expression. 

Dust grins proudly. He keeps thrusting, but Cross doesn’t even feel the pleasure. He’s choking out sobs, tears leaking from his eye sockets and making a mess of his face. “Please, please stop.” He begs. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. In fact, he’d rather be a million timelines away from these crazy people in this moment. 

What was the point of having a safe word if they were just going to ignore it? He knows why they put his limbs in this stupid fucking bar. They can do whatever they please to him with no repercussions. Sick.  _ Disgusting.  _

“Wipe those tears of yours, sunshine.” Dust’s hand is on his face. It smears Cross’ cheek with his own blood, creating a mixture with the salty magic that makes up his tears. “I thought you liked a little pain?” 

Being cut up with superficial wounds is nowhere near the same as having your bones cracked mercilessly, he wants to scream at them. “Fuck you!” He spits. 

“Heh. Feisty.” Killer murmurs. “Watching him fall apart is so much fun.” 

“Let me go.” Cross tries again pitifully when Dust’s dick begins to twitch inside of him. “Please, please let me go. You said you would if I used the word!”

“Oh, for the love of god.” Nightmare suddenly snarls. He grips Cross’ jaw and forces his mouth open. Once he manages to pull his teeth apart, a tentacle crams itself into his mouth. “Will you shut the fuck up? The sound of your voice is annoying.” 

Cross chokes, his whole body seizing up. It burns, the tentacle much too big to properly serve as a comfortable gag. It feels like his throat is being ripped apart from the inside. And the taste...Cross gags and bites down but it stays in place. Nightmare doesn’t react to the biting, and if he were looking at him he would’ve seen how the skeleton rolled his eyelights. 

“Shit!” Dust gasps when Cross’ walls become impossibly tighter. His hips stutter and wet heat spills into Cross pussy. His sobs are muffled by Nightmare.

Dust remains there until Killer shoves at his shoulder. “Move it. My turn, I’ve got something else too.”

The other hesitantly slips from Cross’ aching cunt. Killer comes into his sight and in his hands is a...a riding crop? Cross’ eyelights widen in fear. Nightmare hums, pleased once again by what’s happening. 

“Thought you might like this, Night.” Killer chuckles. “I wanna stuff him. How about we fuck him together?”

“Oooh.” Dust says from where he’s now perched on the throne’s arm. “I wish I brought a webcam for this.” 

“Another time, perhaps.” Nightmare promises. “I’d love to film him as well.” Cross whimpers. There will never be a next time. Ever. Once they let him out of this spreader he’s going to be gone faster than you can blink. 

Something slick and slimy enters him. Nightmare’s dick, he realizes. It wiggles around inside him, and if it weren’t for the fact that his throat burned and his ribcage still bled violently, he might’ve even enjoyed it. The unnatural feeling of it always made Cross cum quickly but now orgasm is the last thing on his mind. 

He just wants to go to sleep and pretend that this night never happened. Agreeing to the whims of these freaks was a mistake. 

“Perfect.” Killer praises. He shuffles closer and, with some pushing, his dick is stuffed into Cross’ already full cunt. “Fuck, Cross. Your pussy is perfect.”

Go kill yourself, he wants to tell him. Jump off a cliff and fucking die. 

And then Killer does something so unthinkably stupid that puts him near the top of his shitlist, right before Dust. He channels his magic in his dick and begins to enlarge it. Nightmare moans unabashedly. 

“Hah. Holy shit, Killer! You meant what you said about stuffing him!” Dust laughs. Cross’ scream makes the tentacle in his throat vibrate. It’s agonizing, just like his cracked ribs that were a few tugs away from falling off. It’s too big! He can feel his pussy start to give, the seams that are wrapped around Nightmare and Killer’s cocks tearing ever so slightly.

Killer looks down and whistles. “Look at all that blood!”

“Careful, make sure there’s still room to move.” Nightmare reminds him. Phalanges stroke the side of Cross’ cranium. Soft and gentle and kind. But he’ll never play Cross as the fool again. He wants to bite those deceitful fingers off and make Nightmare scream the same way he made Cross scream. 

Killer does stop, thankfully. And then he begins to fuck into Cross earnestly, making both Nightmare and Cross shake from the force of his powerful movements. Killer pants with the exertion. It reminds Cross of a deranged animal. And he’s so, so scared. The fear is raw and consuming. 

Is this how he dies? Fucked and mauled by these cruel versions of himself. He closes his eyes tightly and tries to think positively. Classic’s stupid jokes, Blue’s terrible laugh, Dream’s gentle touches-

A crack disrupts his thoughts. Stinging pain blossoms on his thigh, but surprisingly it wasn’t that bad. He cracks open his sockets ever so slightly to gaze at Killer with a dazed expression. He’s not even crying anymore, and the tentacle soaks up all of his hiccups. What does Cross look like right now? Is the suffering of others truly this arousing to them? 

Red had called them “The Bad Sanses.” And he knew that morally, the lot of them were kind of fucked up. The reality of it being true is grim. 

Killer reels his hand back and brings the crop down again. Cross trembles at the pain, and without seeing he can practically feel his HP start to lessen. Killer strikes him again and again, pausing in his thrusts and allowing Nightmare to push up into him as Killer focuses on whipping the literal life out of Cross.

1 HP. 4 HP. The damage keeps rising.

Cross can feel himself grow weaker. But there’s nothing he can do to stop this. He can’t talk, he can’t move. Do they not realize they’re killing him? Cross had, at one point, thought that maybe he loved these people. And he thought that the feelings were mutual. Did he mean nothing to these bastards?

Why does everyone he cares about end up hurting him or leaving him? 

Nightmare halts, his dick squirming violently as it releases it’s spunk in strong pulses. The sound of the crop clattering to the floor fills Cross’ ears, and he focuses on that noise as Killer curses and follows in suit. 

“Goddamn.” Dust giggles. “Here, let me take a picture with my phone.” 

Cross closes his eyes once more. Weakly, he checks himself.

0.1 HP left. Oh god. They really are going to kill him, aren’t they? One more strike and he’s out for good. Nightmare’s tentacle falls from his jaw but no noise leaves him. Cross has been completely broken, destroyed at the hands of people he thought he could trust. 

“Aw, don’t cry.” Nightmare places a kiss to the side of his skull. “You were so much fun. You made us feel so good.” 

Was he crying? He didn’t even realize. He simply lets the tears fall and stares blankly at Dust’s phone. When did Killer move? Having him out of his sight makes him anxious. What if he tries something again? 

Cross doesn’t want to die. 

The flash of the phone makes him blink. Dust rushes back over to them and shows both Nightmare and Cross the photo he took. Cross wants to throw up at the imagery. There is no way that skeleton in the photo is actually him. It can’t be. Cross prides himself in his appearance, and he always holds his head up high to the best of his ability.

That skeleton...it’s not him. It’s  _ not.  _ He’s covered in purple blood. It slips down the corners of his mouth and flows down his legs. His pussy looks cut up, bleeding steadily and dripping a slew of different colored cum. The white of his ribcage is painted with it, too. There’s hints of it on Nightmare’s tentacle, which hovers close to his face. A thin trail of wet purple connects the tip of the appendage to his jaw. Cross has never seen something so appalling before. 

“That miserable expression really sells it.” Killer laughs. “He doesn’t even have his eyelights on, how pitiful.” 

“Pfft, totally. Great spank bank material. I’ll send it to the group chat. Hey Cross, thanks for this. This was awesome!” 

More tears slide down his face. He wishes they’d just kill him already. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ happened here?”

Everyone jumps but Nightmare at the appearance of Horror. Cross’ eyes snap to him, and that singular red eye is narrowed with disgust. His grin twisted into something angry, and the longer he stares the more pissed he seems to get. 

“Oh, hey Horror!” Dust greets him. “You missed out, Cross here just showed us a good time.” 

“...There is something wrong with all of you.” He mumbles. “Get away from him. I’m cleaning him up.”

“Cross is a big boy.” Killer pouts. “He doesn’t need your help. Besides, we’re not done with him.”

“Yes you are. His HP is too low. Are you dumbasses trying to kill him?” 

Dust rolls his eyes. “We were fixing to heal him.” 

“Yeah-”

“Horror is right.” Nightmare suddenly interrupts. “Perhaps...we got carried away. Take him and make sure he is properly looked after, Horror.”

Cross fights to stay awake. His lucidity had been dropping during the altercation, but vaguely he feels his hands being released from the bar. He’s being picked up into big, comforting arms. Horror smells like a kitchen. Cross breathes it in deeply and snuggles into the fur of his jacket. A hand rests on his bare spine, stroking soothingly. 

“There there, it’s all over now.” 

Blackness floods his vision. Finally, he slips into the comfort of unconsciousness. 

*

When he wakes up, he’s wrapped in bandages. Horror sits next to him, tapping away at his phone. The room is dark. 

“Horror?” He tries to say, but his voice is too rough. 

Horror puts down his phone and looks at Cross. His expression is neutral, but a kind and soothing hand reaches over and brushes a tear from his now clean face. “Shh. No talking. Your throat is too damaged.”

Cross frowns. The ache in his bones is dull, whoever healed him must be an expert at their craft. Cross tries very hard not to think about this morning. He still can’t quite comprehend what happened. Fucking assholes. He should pack his shit and call for Dream as soon as possible. He needs to get the fuck out of here.

But...but he knows that he won’t leave, even though they hurt him worse than he’s ever been hurt before. He hates that he can’t hate them. Cross lets out a shuddery breath and fights against the new wave tears that are threatening to form. Horror brushes those away, too.

“I’m sorry that they did that. And...they are too.”

Cross sniffles. “How?” He whispers. Horror gives him a disapproving look. 

“Don’t use your voice. And they left gifts for you. Said to tell you that they’re sorry. They thought you liked what was happening.”

Did they really think that? Was the begging and safe words not enough for them? Or...or did they really think he was acting? A weird feeling forms in his soul. Maybe they did love him still. He shakes those thoughts out of his head.

No. He’s still pissed at them. But...he doesn’t want to run away anymore, nor does he want to violently murder them. “Gifts?”

“ _ Cross.”  _

He puts his hands up in an apologetic manner, which seems to satisfy him. “Yeah. Four boxes of chocolates.”

Man, if they went out of their way to buy him treats they must really be sorry. Cross sighs and closes his eyes again. Horror’s gentle hand never leaves him, not for a second, and Cross is grounded by the touch. It’s funny how the scariest version of him is actually the nicest in this hell hole. 

“Sleep. They’ll want to see you in the morning.”

Cross grimaces. He’s not ready for that. But despite that, exhaustion tugs at him. Going back to sleep certainly isn’t a bad idea. He’ll deal with them tomorrow, when he feels better and when his emotions aren’t as raw. 

Horror leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight.” 

Warmth floods through him. Cross is going to be okay. For the most part, at least. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to aphwhales for betaing this!
> 
> Her Twitter: avosettas  
> Her Tumblr: asriells
> 
> You can find me on twitter at snasational!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [confessional](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28447170) by [avosettas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avosettas/pseuds/avosettas)




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